Shassie Shuffle Shorts
by xxBardApprenticexx
Summary: Song-inspired shorts staring our favorite bickering duo. Everything from K to M and fluff to angst is fair game.
1. Happy

**After a long absence from FF, I'm back! I could give you some rather impressive excuses (laptop crashed, was in a car crash, my neighbors house burned down, moved out to college, etc.), but I won't (except that I already did). I really hope ya'll enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, I'd have a better laptop (that doesn't crash), a shack by the beach (that doesn't burn), and a hammock. But I don't, so don't bother suing for what I can't give you.**

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Angst  
_Happy – Saving Jane_

Lassiter grinned as he hung up the phone, still beaming as he typed up his latest report. Juliet glanced over at him, concerned. Her partner had been grinning all day, every day for the past week, and frankly it was scaring her. She caught sight of McNab hovering around the corner watching his mentor with a similarly freaked-out expression, and hurried over to talk to him.

"Is Detective Lassiter okay?" Was the first thing out of Buzz's mouth, his innocent concern killing her laugh before it was born. "I'm not sure, Buzz. I mean, he seems happy," They both paused as Lassiter gave them the same bright smile. "But it just doesn't seem right." She finished. Buzz's soft hum of agreement made her sigh.

The station door opened, and Juliet's eyes brightened as Gus walked in. When he responded to her smile with a sad shake of the head, she frowned at him, confused. A few seconds later, she got her answer as Shawn Spencer walked in.

This was not the man she'd worked with for three years. This Shawn was a sad imitation, a ghost of the man she knew. Shawn quietly slipped into the Chief's office, exchanged a few quiet words, and slipped back out. No theatrics, no antics, nothing. He started to head back toward the door, but froze as someone called out his name. "Spencer! Wait up!" Lassiter had caught sight of him, and was moving towards him. Shawn flinched before turning to face the head detective.

"Yes, Detective?" The psychic asked softly, not meeting the taller man's eyes.

"I just wanted to thank you. If you hadn't given me that idea, I wouldn't have won Vicky back. So, thanks, Spencer." Lassiter kept grinning, oblivious to the way Shawn cringed at his words.

"Yeah, of course. You're welcome. And, congratulations, Detective." Lassiter just beamed, not noticing the tightness of the younger man's smile nor the tears shining in his eyes. He didn't hear the catch in Shawn's breath as he turned away, nor the sob the psychic partially let out once Lassiter was back at his desk.

Shawn turned and dragged himself out the door, mumbling something about walking to Gus before he left. Juliet and Buzz watched Gus dash out after his friend, their hearts aching for their friend.

They were startled by Vick throwing her door open. "Where's Spencer?" She demanded. "He just left. Something wrong, Chief?" Lassiter asked, still smiling.

"He just gave me a letter terminating his services - he's leaving."

The smile finally dropped from Lassiter's face.

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Angsty angst with a side of tear-jerker, I know. But I can't help it. The muses were feeling particularly down. Don't worry, I promise the next two are happier. Much.

I missed ya'll, and I'd love to hear from you!


	2. Not Okay

**After a long absence from FF, I'm back! I could give you some rather impressive excuses (laptop crashed, was in a car crash, my neighbors house burned down, moved out to college, etc.), but I won't (except that I already did). I really hope ya'll enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, I'd have a better laptop (that doesn't crash), a shack by the beach (that doesn't burn), and a hammock. But I don't, so don't bother suing for what I can't give you.**

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Hurt/Comfort  
_I'm Not Okay (I Promise) – My Chemical Romance  
Spoilers: An Evening With Mr. Yang_

Carlton leaned back in his chair with a yawn, taking a moment to glance at the clock. 11:30.

Nearly four hours since Spencer had sat in a car with a serial killer who held his mother's life in her hands. Four hours since he'd saved his mother's life by risking his own.

Three hours since Henry had taken his wife home, leaving Shawn alone at the station. Three hours since Shawn had given Carlton a look that said he was definitely not okay, even as his mouth was saying the opposite.

Two hours since Shawn had wandered out of the station alone, headed who knew where.

One hour since Guster had called, saying Shawn wasn't answering his phone. One hour since Carlton had said Spencer probably just needed time to himself. He'd been confident that was the case at the time.

Now, though, for whatever reason, he wasn't as sure. Glancing down at his desk, Carlton decided the rest of the paperwork could wait until tomorrow morning. He flicked off his lamp, snatched his coat and keys, nodded to the rookie on duty, and headed out to the Crown Vic.

The first place he thought of was the Psych office, but with the killer having invaded it, he decided Spencer wouldn't have headed somewhere he felt wasn't secure. He was a cop's son, after all.

His apartment was the next, but that was cast aside just as quickly. If Spencer didn't want to be found, he'd avoid the obvious places.

He doubted Shawn would go to Henry's tonight; his mother would be there, and his father would be asking questions, demanding answers… definitely not there.

Gus was the one to call him, so his place was out.

Carlton slammed on the brakes as the answer suddenly smacked him in the face. Safe, unexpected, no questions or explanations needed. Of course. Spinning the car around, Carlton headed for the first place he should have gone tonight.

Pulling up in front of his own apartment, Carlton could just pick out a dark figure huddled beside his door. When he reached his floor, he recognized Shawn leaning against the wall by his door, knees pulled to his chest, eyelids drooping.

"What took you so long?" The fake-psychic muttered softly, too tired to raise his head. Carlton crouched in front of him, placing one hand gently on the younger man's knee. "Looking for you. Then I figured it out." He admitted, earning a half-hearted snort.

"Shawn." He implored. The shorter man finally looked up. "Let's go inside, okay?" The offer was met with the first smile he'd seen from the man since his mother was taken. It quickly faded, and Carlton found himself ready to do almost anything to bring it back.

"I don't think my legs are working yet." The soft admission made Lassiter laugh in relief. "Not a problem." He assured, leaning forward to slip his arms around the unusually subdued man. When Shawn was comfortably settled in his arms, Carlton looked down into hazel eyes.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as he struggled with the door. Shawn waited until it was open to respond. "No. But I think this is the off-ramp for it."

Carlton laughed softly as they entered, pressing a gentle kiss to his psychic's forehead before kicking the door shut behind them.

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**See? Much happier.**

**I missed ya'll, and I'd love to hear from ya!**


	3. Martyr

**After a long absence from FF, I'm back! I could give you some rather impressive excuses (laptop crashed, was in a car crash, my neighbors' house burned down, moved out to college, etc.), but I won't (except that I already did). I really hope ya'll enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, I'd have a better laptop (that doesn't crash), a Charger (with working brakes), a shack by the beach (that doesn't burn), and a hammock. But I don't, so don't bother suing for what I can't give you.**

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Angst and Romance  
_How to Save a Life – The Fray_

Shawn Spencer doesn't consider himself a hero, or even a very good person. Good people don't ask their best friends to lie to an entire police department, and heroes don't collect a check for every person they help.

But right now, just for this moment, he wishes he were. Because standing in front of him is that good person, that hero. Carlton is everything Shawn wishes he were but knows he can't be. And right now Shawn has a chance to be a better person, just a little closer to his ideal, closer to Lassiter. Even if the detective doesn't realize it yet.

"Spencer, for the love of god don't do anything stupid." The dark-haired Irishman implores, his voice uncharacteristically soft. The man holding Shawn hostage glances between them, confused and unnerved, before tightening his hold. The gun stays firmly against his side, the barrel digging into his ribs.

A large ring on the gun hand reminds Shawn who his captor is. He can still see where that ring left imprints on the seven women the man raped and beat to death. If he gets away, Shawn has no doubt he'll do it again. Looking past Lassiter to Juliet and the Chief, he imagines it happening to one of them, and suddenly his choice is made.

He catches Carlton's eyes, can see them widen as the other man realizes what he's about to do. There's a beat where time seems to slow, and Shawn tries to convey everything he neglected to say, and Carlton seems to understand.

Then they rejoin the rest of the world, and the connection between them is lost. Before the detective has a chance to voice an objection and give away his plan, Shawn acts.

Reaching down, he seizes the criminal's gun hand and ejects the clip. But as always, there's one in the barrel, and Shawn won't take the risk of it hitting his friends, his colleagues, or, god forbid, the wonderful man in front of him, so he slips his own finger in the trigger guard.

He smiles as he presses down on the finger in his way, and only falters as the bullet rips into his side. His brain is too busy screaming at his stupidity to bother with such things as muscle control, so he falls.

The three shots Lassiter pops off seem to resemble applause, and Shawn feels like he's quite the hero after all. And maybe that's silly of him, but when Carlton falls to his knees and pulls Shawn close, muttering about how stupid and idiotic and brave that was, he smiles.

And later that night, after the hospital, when he's laying wrapped in Carlton's arms for the first time, buzzed on pain meds and endorphins from their rather lengthy and frankly fantastic first kiss, he still can't seem to shake the idea.

And he decides that maybe it's not so bad, being good and heroic once in a while.

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**Aww, martyr!Shawn is so sweet. Had to write him, or the muses would lock me in a cell with Lassiter (who really doesn't like it when I let Shawn get shot).**

**Again, missed ya'll, love to hear from ya.**


	4. Hate

**Alright, finally finished the new one (mid-terms are a b*tch), and here it is.**

**Disclaimer: I own the words and my voice, nothing more. (AKA: you recognize it, it ain't mine, so don't sue me.)**

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Romance, dark

_I Hate Everything About You – Three Days Grace_

Lassiter steers Spencer into the interrogation viewing room (he learned early on to conduct personal business on the right side of the mirror)  
by the back of the neck, then shoves him the rest of the way inside. Shawn takes the moment of reprieve while Carlton locks the door to catch his breath, and promptly wastes it.

"Lassie, I know," He goes silent again as Carlton throws him against the wall and his breath is forced from his lungs. The taller man follows closely, pinning Spencer's body in place with his own. He seizes the younger man's wrists and draws them up above his head.

"I hate you." He hisses in the fake-psychic's face, forcing him to hold eye-contact. "I know." Is the whispered response.

"I want to hate you." He continues, ignoring the other man's repeated words, "I know."

"I should hate you. Everyone thinks I do." At this, the smaller man nods, his first movement since entering the room. "I know."

He's following 'the rules' today.

"I could hate you." Silence. "Ignore you." A whimper as green eyes widen in fear with a hint of desperation. His hips twitch forward, but quickly snap back against the wall.

He's really obedient today. It's rare, and almost tempting. It can't be easy, but that's the point. He waits for the soft words, the ones he never tires of hearing, especially in that soft breathy desperate pleading tone.

"Don't leave me. Please." Spencer's eyes are downcast; he's ashamed of needing this, they both are.

Lassiter slams his lips down on Spencer's, teeth clacking and nipping as their personalities collide.

---------------

This is wrong, in both their eyes, it's against everything they know and believe.

They avoided it before, but that couldn't last.

They tried to stop a few times. Carlton tried to woo his ex-wife again, Shawn went on a dating spree that put all his others to shame.

But four days later and they snapped back, like a rubber band stretched too far. Always they came back to each other.

---------------

He invades the sweet mouth below him first, but knows he will be forced back soon, only for a moment before he shifts angles and takes control again. Spencer starts to squirm beneath him, the threat of being ignored too much. Lassiter breaks the kiss, if it can be called that, to smirk at his anxious young counterpart.

He shoves a knee between shaking legs, delighting in each unabashed moan and breathy gasp. He begins to rock, slowly, gently, at first, because it drives the young man crazy and he revels in the pay back, the retaliation, the turnabout.

He reaches between them, trailing a hand down Spencer's stomach, then switches and grabs himself, earning all sorts of delightful begging noises. He strokes himself through his pants a few times, letting himself close his eyes and enjoy it, to make the teasing complete.

When Spencer goes silent with need, Lassiter relents. He slides his hand under jeans and boxers and grabs Spencer's naked length without warning, and the appreciative sounds and kisses against his neck are even better than the begging.

----------------

They need this, both of them, this hateful thing they have, because they're better at it. It's easier than love, and they won't screw it up.

If they happen to slip and allow themselves a tender moment every once in a while, neither says anything because it's safer.

----------------

They collapse to the floor together, entangled in awkward positions that really shouldn't feel so comfortable.

Carlton is first to move, of course, but it's just to straighten out his back, for now. Shawn starts to reach over, but hesitates, knowing it's against 'the rules'. Specifically the one where he's not supposed to touch Carlton after they're done.

So he's shocked when Carlton grunts and reaches out to him instead, pulling him close. Shawn finds himself sprawled on the taller man's chest, head tucked under a strong chin, held in place by warm firm arms that suddenly seem strange and yet all too familiar.

This is new, and so against all the rules they set to protect themselves, but Shawn won't dare object. It feels too safe, too comfortable, too unbelievably right, so he just snuggles closer and focuses all of his impressive memory on this feeling, so he can relive it when it's over.

----------------  
**For those who need a sappier, less ambiguous ending:  
**----------------

Then Carlton's hold tightens, and Shawn barely registers a wetness in his hair when the detective speaks.

_"Shawn."_

The ragged gasp tears at the fake psychic's heart, and he replies without thinking.

_"Carlton."_

And neither of them moves, and Shawn thinks maybe this won't end as soon as he'd thought.

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**See? Not quite as angsty... at least not at the end there... okay, yeah, still angsty. Next one's not, though. Sorry.**

**Hope ya'll enjoyed.**


	5. Hero

**Yep, next chapter already. I'm proud. But I must admit, the credit goes to my wonderfully inspirational *cough-pushy-cough* friend, Cor. Thanks, chica.**

**Disclaimer: NOT. MINE. (Excluding the basic plot and voice.) Go sue people with money to give you.**

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_Gus Walks Into A Bank_ tag

Romance

_Holding Out for a Hero - FrouFrou_

Carlton steered the Crown Vic toward the bank, game-face on as he analyzed what needed done for everyone to come out alright.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he noticed a little blue thing that could only belong to Guster. He mentally cursed, because this was definitely not good.

Then he remembered the rather unwelcome phone call that morning, when Spencer had assured him, "I'm not abandoning you, Lassikins! Gus-Gus is just dragging me on some errands today. Tell Jules I give her smooches!"

Which meant Guster was in the bank which meant Shawn was probably in there right then, most likely annoying the hell out the bank robber and about to get himself shot.

Suddenly, Carlton was finding it very hard to breathe. When Spencer stepped out of the car, oblivious and cheerful and not shot, Carlton forced himself to calm down. He had no right, no reason to worry about the infuriating man-boy.

"Lassie! Jules, why are you here?" Said man-boy asked, grinning away, even if it was slightly too strained to be real.

"What are you doing here?" Lassiter threw back, not hiding the fact he wanted Spencer far away, preferably in Kevlar. What could he say, the younger man had a penchant for ending up right in the middle of dangerous situations.

"Shawn, we have a situation. Some guy held up the bank and we think he's taken hostages."

In the split second after O'Hara's announcement, Shawn's face transformed into something dark and angry and frankly terrifying.

Carlton barely caught him in time, and it took a surprising force of strength to hold the smaller man back. "Whoa, whoa, take it easy, Shawn." Carlton tried to sound comforting as he held Spencer against the car.

He hadn't meant to let the name slip, but it seemed to have the right effect as the man sagged into his arms. Lassiter pulled him even closer to keep him upright since his legs seemed to have given out.

"Gus is in there." He whispered, the morbid serious guilty tone so foreign to the eternally cheerful man. Carlton surprised himself by pulling the light-haired head to his shoulder and giving Shawn time to compose himself. He glared at O'Hara until she turned away and chased off the remaining audience, so there was no one else to witness the shaking hands that clung to Carlton's back or the silent sobs that wracked the smaller body.

After a few minutes that seemed to last a lot longer, Shawn started to lean back against the car and Lassiter reluctantly let him go.

"Thanks." Shawn muttered, sounding so weary that Carlton wanted to tell him to lay down in the car and wait it out, but he knew that would never happen. "No problem. Let's go save your friend, alright?" He suggested instead. Shawn nodded morosely, his form uncharacteristically limp as he stared at the wall that separated him from the one he thought of as a brother.

His neck was still warm where Lassiter's hand had held him close, almost tenderly, protectively. It had felt… good, safe. He'd been able to let go for a moment, release some of his fear. He glanced over at the lanky detective still watching him with something akin to genuine concern, and found himself craving more of that feeling.

"Carlton…" He started, the name deliciously foreign to his tongue, only to be cut off by the arrival of a fed convoy. But he hadn't gone unheard, if the heat in Lassiter's stormy gaze were any indication.

The tall dark Irishman planted a hand against the car on either side of the smaller man, effectively trapping him as he leaned closer. His lips brushed tantalizingly close to Shawn's ear as he whispered, "Careful, Shawn. Be very careful." With the warning delivered, he twisted away and stalked towards the recently-arrived force, leaving Shawn gasping in his wake, eyes glued to his retreating back(side).

As they confronted the FBI intruder, one thought ran through both their minds, shoved to the back until Guster was safe.

_"He said my name."_

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_**Yep, no angst. Hey, hey, what's with the rotten vegetables? It's not angst. Maybe not fluff, either, but still.**_

_**Hope ya'll enjoyed it anyway.**_

_**(I do so love the comments...)**_


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